<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Worship by IntoTheRiverStyx</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158921">Worship</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx'>IntoTheRiverStyx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Requests/challenges/etc [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Arthurian Mythology</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:00:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grail Knight is reserved, quiet, only standing out in battle and strategy. Mordred enjoys a challenge.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Galahad/Mordred (Arthurian)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Requests/challenges/etc [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were a number of things that surprised Mordred about Camelot – from how rough around the edges the <i>world's best knights</i> were to the feral undercurrent around his father's table to the energy reeking of the magic that had been far more instrumental to securing the throne than strength or merit.</p><p>But what surprised him the most was how difficult it was to hold a conversation with anyone.</p><p>Most were more interested in glory and valor and upholding the Good King's virtues to cultivate any sort of interest in the scholarly arts.</p><p>“You're not going to block a sword with a book,” one of the Knights had told him only days before dying on the battlefield.</p><p><i>'Seems you're not going to block a sword with armor,'</i> Mordred thought as he passed the corpse.</p><p>There were an entire three men he'd found he could have a conversation with. Not idle chat, not battle or strategy, an actual conversation worth the time and words it contained.</p><p>The first was Kay, technically his foster-uncle but Mordred would never think of the man as family and he doubted Kay knew the extent of Arthur's sin that had come to fruition as Mordred. Besides, their conversations always took the form of arguments rather than debates, and even Mordred found he grew tired of the constant arguments.</p><p>The second, though he would never say so much out loud, was Dinadan. The man was a poor Knight but a solid scholar. They'd had their first conversation several shelves away in Camelot's library – so infrequently used that they were the only two present, and even then Mordred only knew he was not alone because the bard-knight had sneezed. Neither of them had known who they were talking to until they were so deep in conversation that the bard and the bastard finally coming face-to-face to see who they kept company with only managed to bring things to a slow down rather than a halt.</p><p>The third – and perhaps his greatest surprise since he'd come to his father's castle – was Galahad. The quiet, pure Grail Knight who rarely spoke more than a handful of words unless he was made to step up and take a leadership role, turned out to be both a Commander and a Scholar.</p><p>It had started easily enough, in a war tent on the outskirts of Mount Badon, the evening before the first battle Mordred had ever seen the Good King confront with fear.</p><p>Galahad was in charge of the Calvary, the first line of attack. It was, the Good King had decided, a fortuitous thing to have Galahad the Pure lead the charge. With their God on their side, front and center, the tide may yet be turned in their favor.</p><p>Something in Galahad shifted the moment he took up command, Mordred noticed, no longer the demure Knight waiting until the time was right to seek the grail, but so truly a Knight of the King that Mordred could not believe he ever thought Galahad was a pawn in whatever games their fathers were playing.</p><p>Mordred had volunteered to ride with the Calvary because he'd grown bored of waiting, but stayed because he was curious.</p><p>He listened as Galahad explained what would happen come dawn, explained to each rider where they needed to be in line and how they were to conduct themselves. More Knights than the tent could hold crammed together, attention rapt until their dismissal. The tent emptied, Galahad clearly expecting to be left alone until the horn sounded in the morning.</p><p>Mordred stayed behind.</p><p>“I said dismissed,” Galahad did not look up from the map that had captured his attention.</p><p>“You hid the numbers we're facing,” Mordred accused, eyes flicking between the letter Galahad had on the table and the other Knight.</p><p>Mordred could see the horror on Galahad's face as he realized Mordred could <i>read</i>.</p><p>“I though your god prohibited lying or something,” Mordred sat in what was meant to be the commander's chair – Galahad's chair.</p><p>“Every word has been the truth,” Galahad defended himself.</p><p>“With a very key detail missing,” Mordred's smile was a mockery of the emotion it was supposed to represent.</p><p>“What good would fear do?” Galahad's voice was quiet again, more similar to the Galahad of the Round Table.</p><p>“If you're going to send them to their death,” Mordred relaxed into the chair, heel of one foot on the edge of the seat, “they deserve to know.”</p><p>“And when we win,” there was a conviction despite Galahad's quiet, “they will not remember the numbers, just the victory.”</p><p>“It seems you and I have a very different understanding of how history remembers the victors,” Mordred sneered, “and of how numbers work.”</p><p>“We differ on faith,” Galahad countered, “and therefor cannot reconcile our differences.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Mordred's sneer fell to a frown, “Well, Commander, if you'd excuse me, I'd like to get some sleep before taking someone else's horse to my death.”</p><p>Mordred left so abruptly he missed Galahad's startled expression.</p><p><i>Cannot reconcile, indeed,</i> Mordred thought, We shall see about that, if we live past the morrow.</p><p>–</p><p>Despite Mordred's assessments, the Good King's forces emerged victorious. Bloodied and suffering heavy losses, but victorious.</p><p>Arthur rallied those who could make it to the Round Table immediately upon their return. Victory carried everyone else, but those who had managed to worm their way closest to the throne had no time for such sentiments, not yet.</p><p>Next steps were planned, supplies for the wounded who were going to survive their wounds rationed carefully, arrangements to inform the families of the fallen tentatively made.</p><p>Mordred watched his foster-uncle sigh as his father ordered a victory feast to be readied in three days' time, a clear disregard for Kay's exhausted, well-worn state. It was interesting, how boldly Bedivere followed Kay out of the Table's chambers despite not having been dismissed.</p><p>“The smith will be busy for months at best,” Arthur continued, ignoring Bedivere's departure, “so unless you absolutely need to, keep your practice to training weapons until some of the worst damages can be repaired.”</p><p>“Similarly,” Lancelot picked up, “weapon and armor repairs will be prioritized by most salvageable first to get as much equipment back in use as quickly as possible. I know many of us need entire new pieces, so if we are needed on the field again, we may have to borrow armor from those who cannot fight.”</p><p>Mordred knew there had more wounded than not, but he did not know the depth of the damage done.</p><p>Mordred caught Galahad – sitting in the Siege Perilous as if it hadn't killed people – staring at him more than once. The Pure Knight looked away every time he noticed Mordred had caught him.</p><p>Mordred wondered if Galahad knew how obvious he was being.</p><p><i>Oh yes,</i> Mordred decided, <i>you're going to be fun.</i></p><p>–</p><p>It took nearly another month despite Mordred's careful orchestration, but he eventually caught Galahad in the library – alone.</p><p>“Sir Mordred!” Galahad dropped the quill he'd been twirling between his fingers, clearly lost in thought, “It's so rare to see another soul in these parts.”</p><p>“Well, if our Good King put as much emphasis on literacy as he did chivalry, that would not be the case,” Mordred said absently.</p><p>“If reading alone won wars we would have a very different world,” Galahad picked the quill up again, frowning at the ink splatters.</p><p>Mordred hummed, a thoughtful thing, and circled the desk Galahad was sitting at. He came to a stop behind the Grail Knight and leaned in to see what he'd been writing.</p><p>“Interesting,” Mordred purred as he read over the notes, “didn't take you as being a fan of history.”</p><p>“One must understand history if one wants to avoid repeating it,” Galahad's tone was clipped but his words still soft around the edges.</p><p>“And yet,” Mordred leaned in a little further, making a show of scratching off the ink splatters that had resulted from the dropped quill, “you were so quick to dismiss it.”</p><p>“Not dismissed,” Galahad's torso was tense under Mordred's pressure, “You send a hundred men into war knowing they ride out against six and more times their number and tell me how your battle ends.”</p><p>“Should I ever be in such a position, I shall,” Mordred stood up again. He didn't miss how Galahad relaxed almost immediately.</p><p>“The men I command <i>trust</i> me,” Galahad replaced the cork on the ink well, “From trust comes faith, and while I cannot and will not compare myself to God, faith in something tangible, someone they can turn to, is going rewrite the odds, however grim they may be.”</p><p>Mordred moved to sit on the table next to Galahad, his thigh inches from Galahad's hand.</p><p>“And yet,” Mordred said effortlessly, deliberately staring towards one of the high windows, “is putting faith in a man not blasphemy in the face of your god?”</p><p>“Those are different types of faith,” Galahad corrected, “I could never worship a man like I worship God.”</p><p><i>Challenge accepted,</i> Mordred thought, realizing Galahad the Pure – who had clearly earned the moniker for a reason – had no idea how that sounded.</p><p>“And yet,” Mordred hopped off the table, deciding it would be far more rewarding to unravel Galahad so slowly that the Grail Knight wouldn't know what was happening until it was already past, “here you are taking history notes.”</p><p>“Man is fallible,” Galahad said sadly, “and information is the strength behind every strategy.”</p><p>Mordred hummed again before he left Galahad to his research.</p><p>–</p><p>It was weeks yet of careful planning – strategizing, he was sure Galahad would call it – before he memorized the Grail Knight's habits when there were no urgent matters at hand and was able  to run into him be accident with enough regularity he was certain Galahad would notice there was no coincidence behind their encounters.</p><p>Slowly, oh so slowly, Mordred began to touch Galahad. It was small things, a hand on the other Knight's back, a ghost of his fingers along his wrist under the guise of grabbing the quill to reink the thing, a steadying hand on the rare occasions the Grail Knight's steps were improperly measured.</p><p>He noticed, too, that the more time went on, the more he wore Galahad down, the less Galahad froze or tensed up under his touch.</p><p>Mordred would be lying if he tried to convince himself he did not find how pliant Galahad was becoming so tempting he nearly undid the progress several times over, wanting to pin the Grail Knight against the wall, or the damned desk Galahad seemed to have claimed as his own in the library.</p><p>He noticed, too, that he'd come to serve as Galahad's assistant Commander, but that was not important. Not to his end game, anyways. Still...</p><p>Mordred was perched on the desk again, watching Galahad take notes. This time, though, he was also pouring through one of the books Galahad had in his stack of volumes he'd pulled off the shelves.</p><p>They – them, as well as the rest of the forces Arthur could rally – would be headed to battle the following evening, and Galahad knew he would find himself the head of the Calvary again.</p><p>Galahad wanted to see if there was anything about the fort they were supposed to capture recorded and Mordred, even the assistant Commander, offered to help. The stone walls had been long impenetrable and they had began amassing soldiers, reports had come from more than one scouting group.</p><p>Camelot had to strike first of wait to be struck, was what Arthur had heard.</p><p>“Here!” Mordred exclaimed, finger jabbing the page, “Here!” He held the book firm and towards Galahad so the other man could see. Galahad's attention whipped to the book, eyes narrowed in concentration so intense Mordred could barely suppress a shiver.</p><p>“Seems that the fort has been standing for a long, long time,” was the first thing Galahad said.</p><p>“But it also seems, at least initially, the walls were made of wood, not stone,” Mordred pointed out, “and they would have to take down at least a section of the wall at a time or they built the stone around the wood.”</p><p>“So either they made themselves vulnerable and took longer than would have been wise,” Galahad saw where Mordred was headed, “or there's wood still there.”</p><p>“More than likely rotten,” Mordred agreed, “and very, very dry.”</p><p>“All we need it a couple of men and a torch,” Galahad was already on his feet, running towards the throne room, “or someone who can conjure fire.”</p><p>–</p><p>The Round Table was assembled in record time.</p><p>Galahad had, to Mordred's displeasure, credited Mordred with the realization when he presented Arthur with an alternative to going to war.</p><p>“It would still be a victory for Camelot,” Galahad concluded, standing perfectly upright and at-attention despite how far and fast he'd ran. Mordred's chest heaved silently; he found he did not have the air to try to redirect the credit or object when Galahad said, “I wish to take Mordred, Gawain, and Kay, no more and no fewer.”</p><p>Arthur frowned, looking pointedly at Mordred for a moment before he said, “Alright, but you will have a week. If you are not back to deliver the news the fort has burned to the ground yourself, we march.”</p><p>“Understood, my King,” Galahad took a deep bow. Mordred managed not to roll his eyes before he followed Galahad's lead.</p><p>“We leave tonight,” Galahad said as he stood again, “Gawain, Kay, Bedivere, Mordred, take no more than you need and be ready to ride as soon as the sun is down.”</p><p>Galahad the Pure had entered the Table's chambers, but Galahad the Commander marched out of them.</p><p>–</p><p>“So I understand me,” Kay said as soon as they were in the stables, all four of them not waiting for the stable hands to help them, “but why Bedivere, Mordred, and Gawain?”</p><p>“Mordred has more than proven himself useful,” Galahad replied as he tightened his mount's saddle, “and Gawain. Well. Someone has to stay with the horses, and we'll be burning the place down at night, so I'm not putting him in the line of fire. And you never go anywhere without Bedivere, even if it's to commit arson in place of war.”</p><p>Bedivere's barking laugh came from the other end of the stables.</p><p>Kay and Gawain, with their very different magics, were obvious calls for any battle. Mordred took delight in hearing his brother would be stuck minding the mounts, well away from the action.</p><p>“If we ride hard we can make it before first light,” Galahad said, “Check all straps. We cannot afford one to break.”</p><p>To get there by first light, Mordred realized, was likely to kill the horses the instant they stopped to rest. They were, in the end, such fragile creatures, especially considering how integral they were to human endeavors.</p><p>–</p><p>They had made it just before first light, as Galahad predicted, Gawain left with four exhausted horses that looked ready for death.</p><p>“Alright,” Galahad kept his voice at a whisper, “Kay, Bedivere, I want you two to go right. Mordred and I will go left. First break in the wall you find, set a fire, and keep setting fires until the last possible moment.”</p><p>“What then?” Bedivere asked.</p><p>Mordred had a feeling the older Knight knew full well the answer was <i>run before someone decides you'd look better poked full of arrows.</i></p><p>“Do what you must to get back to Gawain,” Galahad shrugged, “and try not to die in the process.”</p><p>–</p><p>“So,” Mordred said after a few minutes of it just being the two of them walking around the dark perimeter, “did you actually pack fire starters or are we just going to cause a scene and hope the guards leave the other side alone?”</p><p>“I packed fire starters,” Galahad hissed, “I always have fire starters in my saddlebags.”</p><p>Mordred would ask later.</p><p>Galahad knelt down at the first breach in the wall he fount, flint striking stone over and over, sparks flying but not catching.</p><p>Mordred saw the pair of guards before they saw them, thankfully.</p><p>Panicked, Mordred hissed Galahad's name. Galahad couldn't miss the panic behind the sharp hiss, so he abandoned what he was doing and rotated to face Mordred to ask what was going on. He followed Mordred's stare to the problem at hand.</p><p>“Fuck,” Galahad hissed.</p><p>“We can't run,” Mordred whispered.</p><p>“I know,” Galahad was frozen, “I know.”</p><p>Galahad's second repetition was that of a man ready to die. Mordred was not ready for such finality, especially for himself. He thought and acted as quickly as he could.</p><p>Mordred hauled Galahad to his feet by the shoulder – Galahad weighted almost nothing without his armor – and pinned the Grail Knight against the wall with his entire body, one hand still gripping Galahad;s shoulder and the other pinning Galahad's wrist to the walll, face buried in Galahad's neck.</p><p>Galahad let out a noise of surprise, but it was almost disturbingly quiet.</p><p>“It's just some kids looking for some privacy,” one of the guards said, “Leave them be and tell the General it's nothing to worry about.”</p><p>“Youths,” the other guard said.</p><p>Mordred and Galahad both stayed frozen until they could not hear footsteps any longer. Mordred was pretty sure he didn't even breaths during that time.</p><p>Mordred breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, creating some space between the two of them, hand still gripping Galahad;s shoulder. Galahad, on the other hand, did not relax or move at all.</p><p>“We live,” Mordred refused to acknowledge how unsteady those two words were.</p><p>“Strategy,” Galahad very clearly forced himself to relax, “works best when it can pivot on its own heel.”</p><p>Before Mordred could think how to reply, a war horn blast came somewhere from inside the fort.</p><p>“Must be a fire,” Galahad remarked.</p><p>They started running.</p><p>–</p><p>Mordred had ran more in three days than he had in months by the time they returned to Camelot, horses  so near death they were put to pasture for reevaluation in a month's time.</p><p>“And so,” Kay, being the one who actually set the fires, delivered the report, “the City of Legion lies in ruins, mercenaries and soldiers who were only allied with them under the promise of an easy victory long gone.”</p><p>“It seems like a cheap win,” Tristan – gods, Mordred couldn't stand him – sneered.</p><p>“If they didn't want their fort burned down they would have minded their wall repairs,” Kay said effortlessly, tone clearly implying Tristan was the one in the wrong.</p><p>Kay was exhausted, his barbs lacking their normal cutting edge. Gawain, really, was the only one who was not so exhausted they seemed ready to sleep on his feet, and even then Mordred was convinced that was only because it was midday.</p><p>“Well done,” the Good King stopped the bickering before it could start, “Kay, Bedivere, Galahad, Mordred, Gawain, take a day or two to rest, to sleep if you can, please. You have earned it.”</p><p>Mordred was looking forward to finding the nearest bed-like surface to pass out on.</p><p>–</p><p>Galahad, of course, defined doing more research as rest, and as such headed to the library.</p><p>He'd asked Mordred to join him, and Mordred took that as a good sign.</p><p>However, Mordred must have passed out on the desk instead of sat on it, because when he awoke it was to the sensation of being used as a book rest.</p><p>“You were in a pretty deep sleep,” Galahad told him as soon as Mordred tried to stir, “and using some of the volumes I planned on reading as a head rest.”</p><p>“How many books are on me?” Mordred genuinely couldn't tell.</p><p>“Three,” Galahad didn't look up from what he was writing, “four if you include the one propped against your side.”</p><p>“Christ,” Mordred swore.</p><p>“Do not use His name in vain,” Galahad's admonishment was and absent thing, reflexive.</p><p>“I'm open to alternatives,” Mordred said dryly. </p><p>“Try <i>'Galahad, do you mind moving the books so I can sit up</i>' perhaps?”</p><p>Was...was Galahad teasing him.</p><p>Mordred tried that exact sentence and found the books promptly removed.</p><p>“Dinner will be soon,” Galahad told him, “though after than I plan on retiring and not emerging until dinner tomorrow.”</p><p>“If I can even make it to dinner, food sounds amazing,” Mordred said through a yawn as he forced himself to sit up. He found himself sitting cross-legged on the desk rather than with his legs dangling off the side, slightly disoriented.</p><p>“Keep yawning and I'm not going to make it to dinner,” Galahad was, apparently, a sympathy yawner, “though I do believe I'll take these books to my rooms.”</p><p>“I'll help,” Mordred looked over the stack Galahad had pulled from the shelves.</p><p>Galahad simply nodded.</p><p>–</p><p>Neither of them made it to dinner. Mordred had made the mistake of sitting on the edge of Galahad's bed while he waited for Galahad to finish arranging the books to his liking on his much smaller private desk.</p><p>He woke up on the stone floor, cold and confused, but it was not the chill that had awoken him.</p><p>Galahad was dreaming.</p><p>Little whimpers escaped the Grail Knight, breathy things that stirred Mordred despite his exhaustion.</p><p><i>Huh,</i> Mordred through as he crawled to Galahad's bedside, <i>perhaps not as Pure as everyone thinks.</i> Mordred rose to his knees to take a look, moonlight just enough to allow him to see Galahad's form and ghosts of the other Knight's features.</p><p>Galahad's hair clung to his forehead, brow drenched in sweat. Even in the darkness, Mordred could see the bruise his hand had left when he'd picked Galahad up by the shoulder.</p><p>He was so enraptured in the dark mark's contrast with Galahad's pale, pristine skin that he almost missed Galahad's whispering a name.</p><p>His name.</p><p>Mordred's cock stirred, exhaustion now a distant feeling</p><p>“Galahad,” he whispered.</p><p>Quick thinking, it seemed, had left an impression on the Grail Knight.</p><p>Galahad moaned Mordred's name again, louder, more desperate. Even in his sleep, Galahad's hands clutched at the bedding, back arched and brows furrowed.</p><p>“Oh Galahad,” what was left of Mordred's rational brain told him he should worry about waking him.</p><p>Galahad called Mordred's name a third time and it was nearly too much. Mordred battled the instinct to wake Galahad, finish the dream in the waking world.</p><p>Instead, Mordred took himself in hand and stroked himself off in record time, biting down on his other hand to avoid crying out, a feat he would have been embarrassed by in any other situation.</p><p>He let himself wonder if this was, in fact, the first time Galahad had called his name in the night.</p><p>Mordred's challenge had become a chase, Mordred realized as he slipped out of Galahad's chambers and back to his own.</p><p>–</p><p>If Galahad's dream carried over into Galahad's waking world the next day, Galahad showed no traces of it when Mordred showed back up, bathed and wearing much cleaner clothes, to see if Galahad needed his assistance.</p><p>“If you wish,” Galahad said, already focused on the book he was leafing through, “You're up early.”</p><p>“I could say the same for you,” Mordred picked up the first book he saw and sat on the edge of Galahad's bed with it, “and you didn't nap yesterday.”</p><p>“I've never been much for sleep,” Galahad said, “Speaking of which, are you rested?”</p><p>“Like you wouldn't believe,” Mordred told the truth.</p><p>Galahad made a contented noise, almost too close to the ones Mordred had heard last night for Mordred to keep control of himself.</p><p>He cursed the looseness of his hose.</p><p>They stayed in Galahad's chambers until the bell that generally coincided with lunch rang.</p><p>“I am starving,” Mordred shut the book he was reading without noting the page he was on.</p><p>“Go eat,” Galahad told him.</p><p>“You need to eat, too,” Mordred grabbed Galahad by the wrist and pulled him to his feet.</p><p>He seemed to be making a habit of this.</p><p>This time, though, Galahad made a whimpering sound. Mordred turned around to see if he'd accidentally hurt Galahad.</p><p>Galahad's eyes were wide but not in pain.</p><p>
  <i>Oh.</i>
</p><p>Mordred tugged again, urging Galahad to follow him to the dining hall. Galahad stayed on Mordred's heels the entire way, clearly hungry. Though for food or something else, Mordred was unsure.</p><p>He'd find out before the day was over, though, he was determined.</p><p>–</p><p>They were almost cursed by an influx of hungry Knights relying on what the kitchens had to offer rather than fending for themselves. Mordred had not been able to get a seat next to Galahad, and instead found himself sitting back-to-back with his query.</p><p>“What I'm saying,” someone at Galahad's table was so loud they dominated the conversations happening at adjacent tables as well, “is that it's all open to interpretation.”</p><p>If Mordred had to listen to a bunch of training soldiers who wound never make Knight talk about what did and didn't constitute fucking for the entire meal, he was going to snap and possibly kill someone.</p><p>Perhaps, when he had been their age, he would have found the conversation hilarious, even joined in if for no other reason than to provoke them. He wasn't too far past that age, where sex drive and shock value superseded critical thinking.</p><p>“He's the holy one,” Mordred knew whoever was talking was referring to Galahad, “Oi, Pure Knight -”</p><p>“His name is Galahad,” Mordred recognized Owen's voice. Owen probably thought he was helping.</p><p>He was not.</p><p>“Galahad,” the second young man said, “Maybe you can settle this for us. When is sex allowed and when is it a sin?”</p><p>Mordred didn't miss the exasperated sigh that had come to warn him that whatever Galahad was about to say wasn't the curt, quiet, subdued reply that was expected of him.</p><p>“Given your lack of instruction,” Galahad's voice was level, “I'm going to have to confer with my assistant to ensure I can explain it in a way you understand.”</p><p>A series of loud whoops and jeers were all Mordred could hear for a few moments. When it was finally quiet enough to be heard, Mordred said, “His assistant is a Heathen and ill versed in advising about things Holy.”</p><p>“Then perhaps my assistant would do well to read up on the subject,” Galahad <i>was</i> teasing him.</p><p>“Then his assistant requests time for such self-instruction,” Mordred returned the teasing.</p><p>Whatever Galahad was going to reply with was drowned out by an uproar of young trainees each trying to be louder than the last.</p><p>–</p><p>“I will be with the books,” Mordred put his hand on Galahad's unbruised shoulder to get his attention. Mordred found his appetite did not hold up against the commotion and he had left the majority of his food untouched, open to whoever wanted it.</p><p>“I will join you,” Galahad said as he rose to his feet.</p><p>They were silent until they'd escaped the ruckus, several hallways away from the dining hall.</p><p>“Did you mean it,” Galahad said, “about time for self-instruction?”</p><p>“Galahad,” Mordred stopped walking, “look at me.”</p><p>Galahad took him literally.</p><p>“No, I mean,” Mordred faltered, “I am a heathen whose entire life was spawned in what your God calls sin. I would be a terrible subject for your God, and your God a terrible fit for me.”</p><p>Galahad took a deep breath and then took a step closer to Mordred.</p><p>“If my assistant did have an opinion, though,” Galahad probably thought he sounded bold, but Mordred could almost smell the other man's anxiety, “what would it be?”</p><p>“Even the trees and flowers and fruits waste their seeds,” Mordred said with a heavy sigh, “Why should man not as well?”</p><p>Galahad took half a step back, clearly not expecting that answer.</p><p>Mordred put his hand back on Galahad's shoulder, right over the bruise.</p><p>“Tell me to stop,” Mordred wasn't sure Galahad knew exactly what was coming next, “and I'll stop. We can forget this whole conversation and go back to the books.”</p><p>“And if I don't?” Galahad asked so quietly Mordred almost missed it.</p><p>Instead of explain, Mordred gripped Galahad's shoulder and spun him so his back was to the nearest wall.</p><p>Mordred shoved Galahad against the wall and then moved to pin him in place.</p><p>“If you don't,” Mordred growled into the hallow of Galahad's neck, “I will convince you that there is no sin in spilling seed.”</p><p>Galahad whined but one of his hands found its way to Mordred's hips.</p><p>Their first kiss was a gentle thing, Mordred exploring exactly how much Galahad knew, how much of the Grail Knight was base instinct without experience to refine it.</p><p>Galahad gasped when Mordred's lips caught his. Mordred took the opportunity to push his tongue into Galahad's mouth.</p><p>Galahad mirrored the efforts, taking his cues from Mordred.</p><p>Mordred was unsure how long he had Galahad held against the wall, the Grail Knight so clearly all instinct and no experience, before he heard footsteps.</p><p>“Mordred,” Galahad whined when Mordred pulled away.</p><p>“Someone's coming,” Mordred said, his lips still brushing Galahad's.</p><p>“Your rooms are closer,” Galahad managed to say.</p><p>Mordred almost laughed before he grabbed Galahad's wrist like a vice and took the lead.</p><p>–</p><p>Galahad let Mordred throw him onto the bed, not even a token resistance offered.</p><p>Mordred pounced, landing with his knees on either side of Galahad's left thigh. Galahad whined again, a reedy, desperate thing, pupils wide and nostrils flared.</p><p>“Tell me this is okay,” Mordred told him, “tell me, honestly, that this is okay.”</p><p>A query of this nature caught was not worth the victory if it was not caught willingly.</p><p>Galahad nodded.</p><p><i>”Tell me,”</i> Mordred repeated.</p><p>“Yes,” Galahad was already begging, “yes, it's okay, Mordred.”</p><p>It was hearing his name said like that that unraveled something in Mordred.</p><p>“Good,” Mordred growled. He grabbed Galahad's wrists and pinned them by Galahad's shoulders, putting a good amount of his weight into the restraining.</p><p>This, he'd quickly realized, brought something to life within Galahad the Grail Knight had thought dead.</p><p>Galahad keened, a high, wanting thing and bucked his hips to try to get more points of contact.</p><p>And oh, <i>oh</i>, Mordred realized, Galahad was already hard.</p><p>Mordred rutted against Galahad, no longer resentful of the thinness of his hose. The blessedly <i>(heh)</i> thin fabric allowed him to feel the heat of Galahad's erection, of Galahad's thighs and hips.</p><p>“What do you want?” Mordred asked.</p><p>“I'm never -” Galahad swallowed the rest of what he was going to say.</p><p>“How do you touch yourself, then?” Mordred asked.</p><p>The look on Galahad's face told him the Grail Night had never even stroked himself off.</p><p>
  <i>Oh, to become the teacher.</i>
</p><p>“Please,” Galahad begged, face flushed and eyes desperate.</p><p>Mordred purred, releasing one of Galahad's wrists to trace his veins from wrist to elbow to shoulder, digging the tips of his first two fingers into the soft spot between Galahad's jaw and ear. Galahad brought his head back instinctively, exposing the softest parts of his neck.</p><p>Mordred leaned forward to kiss down Galahad's neck, to his collar bone, hand that wasn't pinning Galahad's wrist shoving Galahad's tunic up and the off.</p><p>Galahad made a small noise of surprise and holy fuck, Mordred realized, Galahad was <i>beautiful</i> under his tunic.</p><p>“So beautiful,” Mordred muttered aloud.</p><p>“Mordred,” Galahad was asking for <i>something</i>, so Mordred took a guess and removed his own tunic as well.</p><p>They were a study of contrasts, Galahad's unbroken skin telling a story of an untouchable Commander and Knight, Mordred's well-scarred torso telling tales of survival – some boring, some impressive, though none nearly as impressive as the story Galahad's desperate squirming was telling.</p><p>“Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?” Mordred asked as he fumbled with the laces of Galahad's hose.</p><p>“Do you?” Galahad had the wherewithal to ask in return.</p><p> Mordred thought to himself.</p><p>It was a more difficult process than the tunic removal, getting both their boots and hose off without breaking contact completely. As much as Mordred hadn't expected to be so close to losing himself in Galahad, well, here he was.</p><p>“Fuck,” Mordred took a moment to take in the sight of Galahad's body sprawled out on <b>his</b> bed, the Grail Knight's cock hard, proud, the rest of his body all hard angles of a warrior that his clothing normally hid, “Galahad.”</p><p>“Mordred,” Galahad reached up a tentative hand towards Mordred, who guided it to his hip. Galahad squeezed and Mordred leaned into the touch with a moan.</p><p>Mordred lowered himself slowly, lower and lower, until they were chest to chest, hip to hip, cock to cock. Galahad rutted against Mordred this time, other hand flying to Mordred's other hip and both hands gripping with more force than either of them expected.</p><p>“Spread your legs for me,” Mordred instructed. Galahad did with no finesse, desperate, wanting, so lost in every sensation Mordred was providing him.</p><p>Mordred lined his cock up so that it was firmly between Galahad's ass cheeks.</p><p>“Mordred,” it was caught between a plea and a question.</p><p>“Good,” Mordred praised then tested, “So good, spread for me like this, so willing.”</p><p>Galahad whined and leaned his head back, exposing his neck just enough for Mordred to bite at the underside of his jaw.</p><p>“So fucking stunning,” Mordred kept praising, “and you feel so fucking good, with your cock so hard for me.”</p><p>“For you,” Galahad echoed. It sounded like a promise, like a vow.</p><p>“Good boy,” Mordred whispered just before he bit down on Galahad's neck.</p><p>It produced the desired effect – Galahad bucked his hips and whined, a needy thing, arms wrapping themselves around Mordred's waist. </p><p>Mordred gasped and started to thrust – as slowly as he could manage, the friction making every fiber of his being <i>sing</i>. </p><p>Galahad responded in kind, hips bucking more than thrusting, nails dug into Mordred's skin for purchase. Mordred would feel the skin break but he didn't care. No, quite the opposite.</p><p>This would be one set of scars he would bear with pride.</p><p>Proof he and he alone unraveled Galahad the Pure.</p><p>“Mordred,” Galahad's voice was higher than Mordred had ever heard it.</p><p>“Yes,” Mordred hissed into Galahad's ear, “Galahad, yes.”</p><p>Mordred picked up his pace and force, the Grail Knight's entire body shifting upward with every thrust.</p><p>“So fucking gorgeous,” Mordred told him, “Love how your ass feels, fuck, Galahad.”</p><p>“Mordred,” the keening was, somehow, higher this time.</p><p>“Yessss,” Mordred shivered, “Spill for me, Galahad.”</p><p>Galahad bit down into Mordred's collarbone to keep himself from crying out. </p><p>Mordred learned something about his own desires as he came, the force of his own orgasm catching him off guard. </p><p>“Shit, sorry,” was the first thing Galahad said as he unclenched his jaw. He had broken skin, blood welling to the surface.</p><p>“No sorries,” Mordred panted, “none at all.”</p><p>Mordred let himself put his full weight on Galahad, felt Galahad's cock twitch with aftershocks a few times as it softened.</p><p>They laid there for a while, catching their breath and exchanging lazy, gentle touches.</p><p>When he felt his body would forgive him for moving, Mordred kissed Galahad, a gentle, chaste thing that Galahad was the one who nudged it into more, then more again.</p><p><i>Oh, to recover like I was still in my youth,</i> Mordred thought to himself.</p><p>He settled for the way Galahad wrapped his legs around Mordred's own, spread wide again, a promise, a plea, both.</p><p>“Mordred,” Galahad whispered in his ear.</p><p>Mordred placed the tone, at last.</p><p>Worship.</p><p>“Galahad,” Mordred growled to hide his chuckle.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Routine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mordred liked variety. But, as with all things, there were allowances for exceptions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Normally, Mordred despised routine. His world revolved around variety, around novelty. If he could avoid taking the same road twice, he would.</p>
<p>But, as with all things, there were exceptions.</p>
<p>He loved his venison slow-cooked in stew, so tender it melted in his mouth. He had a favorite mead, one that he only found once, but would go out of his way to visit that tavern if he knew he was going to be nearby. </p>
<p>And he absolutely reveled in the way Galahad worshiped him.</p>
<p>By day, they were Commander and his right hand man, now known for their terror-inducing strategies and cutthroat expectations they set for the Calvary. </p>
<p>But when it was just the two of them, sequestered well away from eyes that saw too much and ears that kept secrets they were meant to forget, they became Mordred-and-Galahad, every possible inch connected, a passion not unlike a midwinter fire bringing life to the cold that had settled in their bones from the constant warring. The all-too-familiar smell of blood and death was replaced by a heady, intoxicating haze that could only be described as the smell of lust. </p>
<p>There was a madness in this routine, and Mordred let himself get lost in it at every possible opportunity.</p>
<p>They'd been gone for so long, stolen kisses and rushed, muffled touches only serving as the most crude of balms to take away the worst of the horrors of battle.</p>
<p>Mordred had instructed a handful of servants who had been closest as he shed his armor to give over to the smith for repairs to have a hot bath ready in his rooms by the time he made it up there. They'd scampered off after so clearly taking in the heraldry on his shield to ask someone else whose rooms they were to ready a bath in.</p>
<p>“What did they do to you?” Galahad asked in a way that, to anyone else, sounded like he was scolding his assistant but Mordred had long since come to recognized what Galahad was teasing him.</p>
<p>“Nothing yet,” Mordred's reply was casual, “but if they do not have my bath ready such that I can cleanse myself of the past several months in a way that does not remind me of doing so in a river or lake, they will have slighted me greatly.”</p>
<p>This, Mordred, knew, was likely why the servants skittered away from him when he gave an order rather than lingered after acknowledgment.</p>
<p>“Come now,” the corned of Galahad's mouth that faced Mordred and Mordred alone twitched into something that resembled a smile for a heartbeat's span, “you will not be the only Commander in need to a hot bath tonight.”</p>
<p>And there it was – Mordred was not a Commander, not officially, and was not called as such by anyone on the field.</p>
<p>Galahad had announced with anyone who had a pinch of sense that he intended to join Mordred for his bath.</p>
<p>“Naturally,” Mordred's reply had an edge to it, just barely more than a hitch where the word should have ended instead.</p>
<p>Galahad shed the last of his armor and laid it carefully on top of the pile that belonged to him.</p>
<p>“Come now,” Galahad told him, “the King will want to meet with those of us who have returned, and we would not want to keep him waiting.”</p>
<p>“Sir,” Mordred offered a bow to hide his grin, “I shall follow.”</p>
<p>–</p>
<p>The water was still warm, though the steam had long disappeared while they sat through the post-war council.</p>
<p>“Come,” Mordred beckoned to Galahad as he stripped the remainder of what he'd worn back to the castle from his skin, “we both need this.”</p>
<p>“You are bold to try to fit both of us,” Galahad similarly shed the last of the remnants of war from his body, “though you are known for your creativity.”</p>
<p>Mordred laughed as he lowered himself into the water and crooked his fingers, telling Galahad to get on with it.</p>
<p>–</p>
<p>Clean, the film that war always left on his skin no longer tugging at his conscious, Mordred let himself dry in the cool air of his rooms.</p>
<p>“What now?” Galahad asked as he wrung as much water out of his hair as he could.</p>
<p>“Now,” Mordred purred, “there are a number of options, though more than the rest of them I quite badly want to make up for the months it's been since we've spent the night together.”</p>
<p>Galahad chuckled and closed the distance between them, the layer of coolness that had settled on both of them a sharp contrast to the heat Mordred felt building just under his skin.</p>
<p>“Galahad,” Mordred purred.</p>
<p>“Mordred,” Galahad's voice held a challenge that reminded Mordred of the chase that had lead them here to begin with.</p>
<p>Mordred grabbed Galahad by the wrists and began stepping backwards towards the bed. Galahad followed Mordred's lead, no resistance offered as they moved, steps not quite fluid and thoughts not quite formed.</p>
<p>Mordred went to spin to throw Galahad onto the bed as they nearly always did when Galahad, in a sudden feat of strength and speed, pounced on Mordred, causing him to land with his back and hips on the bed and feet still on the floor. Mordred landed with a surprised sound, air rushing out of his lungs on impact.</p>
<p>“Galahad?” Mordred tried to ask a thousand questions in a single word.</p>
<p>“I didn't know how used to having you I'd gotten,” Galahad growled, “until I <i>couldn't</i>.”</p>
<p>Mordred's breath caught in his chest as he realized this was not the Galahad he usually took to bed, but rather the Commander he'd first decided to chase after.</p>
<p>“I would like to show you,” Galahad told him, “exactly how much I missed you despite having you at my side day and night.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Mordred hissed, “sir,” he added for good measure, testing the honorific. </p>
<p>Galahad let a pleased hum, and Mordred knew he'd made the right decision.</p>
<p>Galahad pressed his erection against Mordred, leaning over to kiss the other man, to touch, to rake his nails down Mordred's side. Mordred's hands found Galahad's sides, his back, every inch he could reach and quite a few he had to stretch for.  </p>
<p>Mordred tried to sit up to reach more, but Galahad put his hands on Mordred's shoulders, keeping him flat against the mattress, a silent command. This was new but oh, oh, Mordred could do this again, he was coming to that realization so, so quickly.</p>
<p>“Where is it?” Galahad asked.</p>
<p>“Writing desk, top left drawer, front left-hand side,” Mordred knew exactly what he was asking.</p>
<p>“Stay,” Galahad told him and Mordred thought he may never move again without Galahad's express permission.</p>
<p>Galahad returned with the small vial of oil they kept clutched in his hand, trying to warm it before he opened it.</p>
<p>“Scoot back just a touch,” Galahad told him, and Mordred did, “Good. Now, heels on the edge of the bed, legs spread. Good, Good. Mordred.”</p>
<p>Galahad uncorked the vial and poured a small amount in his hand. He reached down and began to stroke Mordred's cock, bringing him to full hardness with strokes that were, by now, so familiar they were near-reflex.</p>
<p>Mordred groaned and bucked into the touch, the desperation that had always surfaced in their stolen moments returning in force, knowing this time they would not have to break apart after a few breaths' span.</p>
<p>“Easy,” Galahad's voice was strained, “easy, Mordred.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Mordred wasn't quite sure what he was agreeing to, “yes, sir.”</p>
<p>Galahad made a sound that, if it were the last sound he ever heard, Mordred believed he could die happy regardless of whatever else was occurring at the time of his death.</p>
<p>Galahad took his hand off Mordred's cock to stroke his own a few times, desperate to relieve a little pressure.</p>
<p>“Please,” Mordred begged.</p>
<p>“Please what?” Galahad asked despite pouring more oil into his hand before beginning to work Mordred open.</p>
<p>Mordred tried to reply, he really did, but Galahad had one finger inside his and crooked so perfectly that words were something he was no longer sure he had ever understood, ever learned.</p>
<p>“Please what?” Galahad asked again once he had a second finger inside, little ceremony or finesse behind the process. Had Mordred had any of his wits about him to come to his aid, he would have realized Galahad wanted the same thing just as badly.</p>
<p>“Fuck me,” Mordred demanded, “Please. Sir.”</p>
<p>And gods and God and even Galahad's Christ alike, he could see himself calling Galahad <i>Sir</i> until the end of days.</p>
<p>“Since you asked,” Galahad said before lining the head of his cock up, guiding himself inside of Mordred with a near-painful slowness. Mordred hissed at the intrusion, tensing before remembering to relax. Galahad was careful, <i>caring,</i> and Mordred saw stars at the edges of his vision. Galahad's hands braced themselves on Mordred's ankles, keeping himself steady and Mordred's legs apart.</p>
<p>Then Galahad was moving and Mordred's ankles found themselves braced against Galahad's collarbones and Galahad was digging his fingers and his nails into Mordred's skin and Mordred's hands were gripping the bedding as if he might begin to levitate without an anchor.</p>
<p>Galahad managed the wherewithal to begin to stroke Mordred in time with his thrusts, a horribly unfair move that had Mordred shouting as he came all over himself.</p>
<p>Galahad paused, but before he could ask anything, Mordred growled: “Don't you dare stop until you're done.”</p>
<p>Galahad resumed, Mordred under-estimating how different it would be post-orgasm, his body clenching around Galahad, who was caught by surprised. Galahad leaned forward, thrusts deeper and shorted, hitting a spot Mordred hadn't know needed to be hit. Galahad came as Mordred cried out, the mix of pleasure and surprise and the feeling to Galahad's spend inside of him almost, almost too much.</p>
<p>“I've got you,” Galahad assured him despite barely managing not to slur the words together, “I've got you, love.”</p>
<p>And, holy fuck, there was a word Mordred had never heard directed at him before.</p>
<p>“You do,” Mordred said, and knew it to be true, “you do.”</p>
<p>Some things, Mordred believed, warranted experiencing again and again.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>